Tonight, she taught me the nature of healing summer rains Whimsical descriptions of dancing in puddles, but Metaphors only serve to drown her pain Dry on the surface, swearing inside the drought sustains But dew droplets in her eyes betray her restraint The morning after, the storm remains
Little flower, bent at the stem Oversaturated by the self-absorbed Her waterlogged roots weighing her down, but In fields of bloom they still look to you See, the weak reach for the easily used green and blue tulip hues But her yellow petals require strength to be pulled from the meadow
~ Somersaults In the tall grass Lutalica girl In places on the run Stretched out in her awakening Removes the dress of her captivity To introduce herself to those she loves There's something deeply unknowable And terrifying in the arrival of her liberty Sprung forth out of the box She started from ~
Lutalica: the part of your identity that doesn't fit into categories.
We are the lucky ones. We figured it out, cracked the code. Birds of a feather, fated souls. And I could drown deep in those eyes. This beautiful woman makes me feel alive makes me feel awake, with a mind thats at peace, with the world, with this girl, I am finally at ease. And it makes no sense, at least not to me, what'd I do to deserve to be so lucky.
“maybe this time it’ll be different” “maybe we can work things out” “maybe you won’t get hurt” “maybe you won’t catch feelings” “maybe you can control the growing feelings and turn them off” “maybe he’s better as a friend” “maybe you won’t have *** again” “maybe this time around he won’t randomly kiss your face goodbye, leaving you wondering what it meant and wanting more all at once” “maybe this time he won’t tell you he loves you when you’re ******* for the third time that day” “maybe this time he’ll stop talking to other girls” “maybe this time he’ll hide the other girls better” “maybe this time he’ll hurt you enough to stay away” “maybe this time you should just stay away” i’ve realized that the word “maybe” has made its bed within my head and is living there rent free, all because i cant seem to break free, from you.
You have the most pleasant touch, most pleasant eyes, most pleasant wrinkles. Kotschka, you have turned me into a fire without knowing it, without seeing it. Now that you do, look at me and show me remorse, and give me your condolences. This is my very first time saying this: I died when you looked at me and I died when you said 'hi.' I died when you smiled, and I died again when you touched me. This is how it's going to be, but know that I can die again and again as long as it's for you and because of you.